Just Words
by KelliP
Summary: "But I can't love you". Castle's life turned out nothing as he had planned, but ever the novelist, he decided to re-write it. He put pen to paper, used his imagination to create the perfect world with the perfect lifestyle, the perfect family, and the perfect woman. But as he found out, it came with a deep cost.


**A/N:** So... yeah. I'm not sure about posting this. Have held onto it for a while, but we'll see. This is a very different, out-there sort of idea. An experiment that sprouted during a re-watch of _The Final Nail_.

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**Extended Summary:** He was pushed to the outside at Edgewyck Academy, always looking in yet never finding his place. He found love with Kyra Blaine, only to have his heart shattered into ruins. He wrote his first manuscript, created _something_ from _nothing_ using just words and his imagination, only to receive rejection letter after rejection letter. Castle's life turned out nothing as he had planned, but ever the novelist, he decided to re-write it. He put pen to paper, used his imagination to create the perfect world with the perfect lifestyle, the perfect family, and the perfect woman. But as he found out, it came with a deep cost.

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**JUST WORDS**

* * *

"The Damien that you think you know doesn't exist.

You made him up, just like you made up Derrick Storm, just like you made up Nikki Heat.

He's a character in a story that you told yourself when you were a homesick fourteen year old boy."

– Kate Beckett to Richard Castle, 3x15 _The Final Nail_.

* * *

_April 1, 1984._

* * *

Richard Alexander Rodgers clutched the bright red cafeteria tray tight in his hands. Even so, the plastic tray shook with the nerves he couldn't control, fingertips loosing their colour and turning white as he stared out at the sea of people. He shifted his stance on the spot awkwardly, rocking one knee and bouncing on the other foot as he searched for a spot to eat. The chill of winter hadn't quite lifted from the air just yet, rendering the picnic tables out in the courtyard unusable. It left the cafeteria hall overly crowded, kids squashing themselves onto the benches to try and fit around the tables.

Finally, Richard spotted a vacant seat across the dining hall. He pushed his way out of the crowd that had formed at the end of the food line and weaved his way through the maze of tables. He approached the table slowly, sizing up the group of kids that sat around laughing with one another. Hesitantly, he opened his mouth, geared up to speak what would be his first words for the day.

"Is this seat taken?" he asked quietly. His words were barely heard atop the ruckus of dinnertime, the only tell the other kids heard him was the deadpanned stares he received. No outright refusal, though. An improvement on lunchtime. Richard took his chances and slid onto the bench beside the others.

Their response was immediate. Each boy grasped their food trays and rose from the table without a word, leaving with not so much as a glance back at him. The rejection overwhelming, humiliating. Richard's head drooped low and his stomach curdled. The worst part was it wasn't even a hard punch to his gut anymore. Just a dull ache, the abandonment already settled as he'd grown used to the isolation over the last seven months.

When he finally crawled into bed that night, Richard slid his thumb underneath the flap of the single envelope waiting on his pillow and tore it open. He flipped the folded, single page over in his hand for a long few moments, taking in the moment before he finally unfolded the letter.

_Dearest Richard,_

_May you have much happiness on your fifteenth birthday. Enjoy your day. You are young- live your life!_

_It won't be long before we see each other again._

_With all my love,_

_Mother._

Richard folded up the letter and tucked it underneath his pillow. At least someone had remembered his birthday.

With that, he leaned over the edge of the mattress, reached for the notebook he kept hidden underneath, put pen to paper and began to write.

* * *

It was a world where he had everything. A well-off life, rubbing shoulders with Manhattan's elite. A grand apartment in the middle of what he believed to be the greatest city on Earth. All the friends he could have asked for, and a close-knit family to come home to every night.

People surrounded him every day, flocked to him, admired his work. He wasn't ignored, wasn't left to sit in the shadows. He was thrust into the spotlight for everyone to see.

He loved it.

At least, he loved it to an extent. The parties thrown for him were fun at first- people all so eager for him to sign their books, woman tugging down their tops so he could sign their chests- but it wasn't long before everything went sour, before he wanted _more_.

"Life should be an adventure," he told his daughter. "You want to know why I killed Derrick? There were no more surprises. I knew exactly what was going to happen, every moment of every scene. It's just like these parties- they've become so predictable. '_I'm your biggest fan_… _Where do you get your ideas?'_"

Alexis shot him a look. "And the ever popular '_Will you sign my chest_?""

He offered his daughter a shrug of his shoulders and went for his flute of champagne. "That one I don't mind so much."

"Yeah, well, FYI- I do."

Castle sighed. She didn't understand. "Just once I'd like someone to come up to me and say something new," he tried to explain.

"Mister Castle?"

The notes of her voice were alluring, drawing him into temptation. He fished his pen out of his inner breast pocket and uncapped it at the ready, whipping around to the source of the sound. "Where would you like it?" was the immediate charm-lacking response that flew from his mouth.

The woman before him simply tilted her head to the side, unamused. "Detective Kate Beckett, NYPD," she told him dryly. "We need to ask you a few questions about a murder that took place tonight."

The pen in his hand fell slightly as his eyes shifted to the shiny NYPD badge. A long beat passed as he took it- _her_- in before he finally managed to drag his gaze back up to meet her hypnotic eyes.

"That's new," his daughter spoke over his shoulder, reaching around to steal the pen from his hand. Now, though, he wasn't paying any attention to her. All he could do was stare at the woman before him.

There was something about her that was so… different. An aura of confidence, but not cockiness. Clever, but not hubristic. Her wide brown eyes were careful, but not judging. She was thoughtful, understanding, sympathetic. Patient when she needed to be (though not when he pushed her buttons).

Yet despite all of this, despite how truly remarkable she was, she kept up a hard shell around her. Brushed him off when he struck to close to home, kept him at a distance.

But he couldn't let her go. He just wanted to _know_ her, wanted to be with her.

And she was exactly what his life needed at that point in time.

* * *

_June 7, 1990._

* * *

Richard Alexander Rodgers.

He changed that name as soon as he could. Left all the misery associated with that name over his childhood behind and became someone new. He had plans for his life. Big plans. One that needed a different name, one that stood out, caught attention.

Richard Edgar Castle.

Rick Castle.

But it didn't do him any good.

Kyra Blaine shook her head sadly, closing the distance between them to cup his cheek gently, apologetically. "I'm sorry, but I have to go. I have a flight to catch."

He didn't think it possible, but his heart fell even lower in his chest, curdled in his stomach. "Kyra…"

"No," she interrupted. "Please don't do that. Please don't try and convince me to stay."

"But I love-"

She clapped a stopping hand over his mouth. "Don't, Rick," Kyra choked out. "Don't. Please. I just- I need space."

And then she was gone. His first love was over. She'd jumped on a train without even a glance back, to be swept up by a plane and carried thousands of miles across the ocean. Even in the sea of people bustling through Grand Central Station, he had never felt so alone.

His feet were heavy, entire body weighed down with the grief of his loss. Castle barely managed to carry himself home, tumbling through the door and into the tiny studio apartment. Even so, he stood just inside the door for a long few minutes, weighing his options. It would be so easy to just fall to the floor and let the heartache overwhelm him, pick up the bottle and drink until he passed out, go out and find something- someone- to help him put Kyra behind him.

He didn't do any of the above. Instead, he dug his hand underneath the mattress and pulled out the tattered notebook he'd been scrawling in since his days at boarding school. He skimmed over the pages, the story dancing to life in his head. A world where he had everything.

_Almost_ everything.

The story he'd developed so far wasn't quite enough anymore. Without pause, he snatched up the nearest pen and pressed it to the page.

He wanted more.

* * *

She was in love with him. Kate Beckett was in love with him. He still couldn't believe it. It had taken four years, four long years of just _waiting_ and _wishing_ for her to see he was _right here_.

And then she did. She came to him, wanting him. Loving him.

"Castle…" Her voice was soft as she called out, sweet and alluring. Her breath was hot and enticing against his ear, her lips dipping to press against the underside of his jaw. Castle let out a content sigh and kept his eyes closed, preserving the moment before it slipped through his fingertips.

"Castle," Beckett tried again. He felt her breath move away from his ear, travel across his cheek until short bursts of heat were fanning his lips. He listened carefully as the sheets rustled, felt her throw one knee over his waist, shifting her body to hover above him. Even so, he kept his eyes glued carefully shut.

The heat radiated from her body, growing stronger as she leaned closer. Ever so gently, she pressed a whisper of a kiss to his lips, the contact so barely there he wasn't sure whether he'd imagined it.

He hadn't. She pressed her lips to his again, more loving, more passionate, but once again breaking away too soon. Blindly, Castle reached for her, hands sliding up the silky skin of her thighs to grip at her hips.

"Uh-uh," she clicked her tongue. He felt Beckett shift her weight, rocking back on her heels as her hands plucked his fingertips off her skin. "Open your eyes."

Like a child, he shook his head stubbornly. "If I open my eyes, this won't be real. I won't have you anymore."

Without pause, Beckett lifted both of his hands still clasped between hers, opening up his fingertips to rest his flat palm on the rough skin over her heart. Beneath his touch, he felt the heart beating to a steady rhythm, a reminder of the blood pumping through her veins and not bleeding onto the grass.

"Open your eyes, Castle," she whispered.

He did.

She wasn't there.

* * *

_May 7, 2012._

* * *

Castle should have expected it. It was far from the phone call with an offer he'd been crossing his fingers to receive. The envelope was too thin to contain nothing more than a single sheet of paper, barely half a page of ink printing out the rejection letter.

Yet another rejection letter.

He should have expected it. By now, he really should have expected it. It had been over twenty long years since he'd sent out his first manuscript, and every response he'd received- if any at all- had been nothing but a shallow apology that they weren't interested in his words. That he wasn't talented enough. That he didn't show enough promise. That he was too far through his life to develop anything worth publishing.

He scrunched the letter into a tight ball, tossed it across the small studio apartment to land in the pile of overflowing trash around his wastebasket. Then he spun around in his chair, pushing the letter from his mind and coping the way he always had.

He reached for the scrappy notebook from his teens, and wrote.

* * *

Castle beamed at the woman standing beside him, his arm curled around her waist as she relaxed against his chest. She shot him a smile of her own, her wide brown eyes shining in the reflection of the city lights, her smile dazzling.

Kate Beckett took his breath away.

His heart skipped a beat, stomach flipped low inside of him. Days like this he couldn't believe someone so perfect loved him back with all her heart. Letting his hand drop from around her waist, he slid his fingers down her arm to catch her left hand, to just touch the diamond ring on her fourth finger and remind himself that this was in fact real.

Beckett flipped over her hand, entwined their fingers together for just long enough to gently squeeze his hand before she let go. The loss was only for a moment. In the next, she snaked both arms around his waist, smiling as he mimicked her actions.

It was late into the evening, just before the clock ticked over to the early hours of their wedding day. They had only just left the rooftop rehearsal dinner, now standing on the street outside, about to depart for the night. Lanie was standing close, ready to discuss last-minute details for tomorrow, but right now he couldn't drag himself away. The only thing Castle could manage was to lower his face closer to hers, their foreheads almost kissing but not quite. The move broke almost all of her PDA rules, but it was the night before their wedding. They were allowed a little leniency. Without another moment's pause, Castle cupped the back of her head gently to draw her in for a long, slow kiss. She didn't fight his embrace. Just sighed contently against his lips, giving into his love.

At least, until Ryan and Esposito spluttered loud, interrupting coughs behind them.

Each shot two detectives a warning glare as they were forced apart, but the boys simply smirked at them. Beckett rolled her eyes and looked away, ignoring them.

"So…" Castle started slowly.

"So," she mimicked, a small smile playing on her lips.

"One more sleep until the wedding," he commented casually.

On a sigh, Beckett ducked her head and tucked a lock of curls behind her ear. "Look, Castle… I think we both know that's not going to happen."

Disappointment at the broken promise sliced through his heart, but he bit it back, kept it from spreading across his face. "I thought you said not being able to see the bride before the wedding was an out-dated tradition?"

Beckett shook her head. "No, Castle. I mean- the wedding. We both know there's not going to be one."

Every inch of his body seized up at her words. His mouth parted, the questioning _what_ on his tongue, but the sound was choked behind the knot in his throat.

"All of this- us… it's been a journey, to say the least," Beckett continued slowly. "But it has to end here. We both know it."

Castle shook his head stubbornly. "No. Kate-"

"You're not ready to let me go," she swiftly interrupted. "I know that, but Castle- you have to. You have to _try_. You have a life to live."

The words stuck in his throat, choked him, nothing more than a raspy whisper when he forced them off his lips. "I have a life to live with you, Kate," he breathed out on a whisper. "I- I love you."

Beckett cupped his cheek gently, swept her thumb across his skin. She peered up at him through wet lashes, eyes shining, but her voice was final. "But I _can't_ love you."

* * *

_May 7, 2012._

* * *

Castle's apartment settled back around him all too suddenly. The room seemed smaller than ever, the four dull walls of the tiny studio apartment in Brooklyn closing in around him, suffocating him. It was old. Messy. Notecard with scrawled novel ideas covered the wall to his left, piles of failed manuscripts stacked up against the wall on his right. Loose pages upon pages scatted the room, falling over every surface, covering the apartment in a white sheet that served to do nothing but remind him of his failure. Behind him rest an empty bookshelf, mocking him. The one he'd bought years ago, the one he said would one day be filled with his novels.

But there was nothing to fill it with.

Castle flipped over the last page of his unpublished scrawl of a novel with a sigh. His spacious loft in Soho faded instantly, the walls lined with book upon book- _his_ books- all dissolving into sand. His friends and family- his _fiancé_- all disappeared from his mind without so much as a wave goodbye, leaving him in the stark silence of being all alone. Forever alone.

The reality hit him hard.

She was nothing more than a figment of his imagination. Nothing more than a mirage appearing during the hollow pits of his life, the times he needed her most. Nothing more than words on a page created to break him from the reality that he was alone, that he had always been alone. That he would always be alone.

Outside of his mind, the extraordinary Kate Beckett had never existed.


End file.
